


The Flightless Prince

by glaivenoct



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaivenoct/pseuds/glaivenoct
Summary: His wings are black, broad and strong - exactly what one would expect from a Caelum - but when he’s eight years old, an attack leaves Prince Noctis injured and flightless. As he grows up, Noctis faces the possibility he may never fly again.But he never faces that possibility alone.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	The Flightless Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aithilin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/gifts).



Where most children don’t spread their wings until the passing of their first birthday, Prince Noctis spreads his wings for the first time when he’s eight months old.

On a crisp spring morning, King Regis takes his son for a stroll in the citadel gardens. It’s a much needed stretch for his own wings before confining them to the throne for the day. Trailing beside him is trusted Shield, informing him of the details of a recent letter received from their dear friend Weskham. 

The little prince in his arms, however, is far more charmed by the purple butterflies perching on fragrant pink petals and trimmed shrubbery. The hummingbirds skating along ponds and bathing in stone fountains grab his attention with their harmonious chirps. He points and reaches for them with curious coos, wriggling in his father’s arms to better peek at them beyond the curve of large black wings.

A young sparrow leaps from a tree branch, spreading it’s brown wings to soar past them. Noctis babbles in his own language how fascinating that is. 

“It’s been years since I’ve been to Altissia,” Regis says thoughtfully when they’re settled at one of the garden tables. Clarus drafts a correspondence to Weskham across from him with cups of tea steaming between. He looks at his son in his lap, smiling as the boy squeezes a rubber chocobo toy in his hand with the utmost determination. “I’d like to take Noctis there one day. I think he’d like it.”

“They do have their annual carnivals there. I’m sure his highness would enjoy them.”

“What say you, Noct?” Regis bounces the boy on his knee. “Would you like to meet Weskham and see the moogles and chocobos?”

Regis expects perhaps a soft noise from him. An unintelligible gurgle or an adorable giggle. Instead, while he attempts to fit the head of his chocobo toy in his mouth, Noctis unfurls his tiny black wings, creating a sudden flutter of wind between the two men. Regis and Clarus simultaneously knock over their cups, rising from their chairs in fright. 

The tea soaks the parchment of Weskham’s letters while Regis holds his son out like a specimen to behold amongst the praise of a crowd. Clarus locks widened eyes with the dangling little prince, his own vast, chestnut wings expanded like he’s bracing for a sudden duel. Noctis bursts into giggles and breaks the astonished silence between them. 

Noctis’ wings are like two little shadows perpetually cast behind him; a matte, inky black one should expect from a Caelum. Regis’ eyes follow the edges of them, starting from where they sprout at his spine, to where they soon curve and create a shallow dip, up the little peak where the remaining span arcs slightly skyward. His feathers are velvety to the touch, the primaries and secondaries being but little stubs of fluff budding from fully grown coverts. Something not many children at this age have.

“It seems as though his highness is ready to fly to Altissia all on his own.” Clarus says, releasing whatever breath he’s held onto in his initial shock.

Regis frowns, turning the boy around in his arms. He catches the way Noctis’ wings twitch, as if his son means to try and flap them. 

It’s a bit early for his liking, though not uncommon for someone of the royal line, if he remembers his father’s words from those infamous  _ When you have an heir  _ monologues. They say it has to do with the link to the crystal. That the power bestowed to the royal line offers the advantage of an “early bloom”, so to speak, passed down the generations. 

Regis prefers to believe it’s because Noctis is a troublemaker like him - which gives him the urge to hold his little prince close. To wrap his own wings around him if it means he can keep Noctis on the ground, where it’s safe, a little longer.

He settles for raising a stern brow that makes Noct giggle and reach for his beard. The tips of those tiny wings continue to flex, and Regis is almost certain his son is too proud of himself. He’s showing off now, probably saying " _ Dad, look at me!"  _ somewhere in that babbling of his. Regis caves at the sweet innocence of it, smiling and drawing him closer. 

“You’re going to give me grey hairs faster than this ring ever will, aren’t you?”

Noctis makes a high pitched noise and tugs on his beard. That’s an absolute yes.

The panic and grey hairs always come first, such as on the days he catches Noctis stretching his wings mid crawl. Or walking in to see them spread while Noctis stands to peer curiously out of his crib. There’s something conflictingly adorable and terrifying when the boy learns to wave hello and goodbye, because he wiggles his wings as he does so. Every morning Regis checks on him, he’s convinced Noctis is going to zip out of that crib, past his head and through the door. Never to be seen or heard from again.

The day Noctis takes his first steps is no different. They’re in the gardens. A very open environment in which he could zoom off to gods knows where. 

Clarus is the one to bring Regis’ brain back down to Eos. To remind him that it’s unheard of for a child, even a Caelum, to fly before learning how to walk. Even if by some magic stricken miracle Noctis ends up airborne, he won’t get far without fully grown feathers.

So when Noctis flaps his wings excitedly with each bumbling step he takes, Regis becomes distracted by the pure delight on his son’s face, the little  _ oof  _ when he stumbles into his arms. Noctis stands with his support and squeals happily. The tips of his tiny black wings touch Regis’ arms as if he means to hug him with them. His feathers are not yet fully grown, but there’s no doubt they’ll be here soon. 

His little prince is a marvel, and though he wishes for it not to pass by him in the blink of an eye, Regis looks forward to the day Noct’s wings bloom to their full potential.

\--

“Dad? What if I can’t do it?”

At five years old, Noctis tugs at his father’s pin striped pants, looking timidly at the multi-tiered stone structure at the center of the kingsglaive training yard. Platforms jut from each side, held up by brick pillars that are pierced with crevices for climbing. Archways line the edge of every other ledge; cracked from age, bleached from the sun, and scorched by continuous licks of magical flames and lightning.

Regis has seen the glaives zipping around this thing like it was their own personal playground. Climbing, shimmying and stealthing about. Gliding through the archways and toward the surrounding pillars to stretch their wings and hone their aerial maneuvers. Regis used to do the same back when he was prince. The thought of it never bothered him. 

Not until it was the thought of his son flying around it.

Noctis’ feathers have grown in full and found their shape. His wide, pointed secondaries transition seamlessly into the longer primaries. They thin out the more lateral they are to his torso, curving to the sky like they intend to gently caress it. 

At five years old, Noctis is able to hold himself steady in the air with his wings. To soar around the safety of the crownsguard training rooms and - less to Regis’ pleasure - throughout the halls of the citadel. He’s never soared outdoors, mostly because of the warnings Regis has given him not to.

Today is thanks to Clarus and Cor’s constant urging that Regis can’t stint it any longer. Noctis learning to fly in a more open and natural environment is as crucial as it is inevitable. With his enthusiasm around the training rooms as it is, Cor expressed concerns that Noctis could take matters into his own hands and end up hurt. 

They decided the kingsglaive training grounds were a start. Though Nocits first expressed excitement when they told him, his demeanor changed once he faced the stone structure. Maybe it’s too much. Too dangerous. He’s still so  _ young  _ after all, despite Regis recalling flying around the gardens with his mother around the same age. 

That was different. This is Noctis, and Noctis - 

_ Is growing up no matter how much he wants to deny it _ . Clarus and Cor’s urging is in no one’s best interest but Noct’s. It would be  _ unnatural _ to prevent him from flying outdoors any longer.

So Regis takes a deep breath and smiles at him, resting a hand on the top of his shaggy hair.

“You can do it, Noct. Cor and I will be right here watching. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Cor’s comes to reaffirm it with his silver wings. The oblique fanning feathers nudge at Noctis’ own, prompting the boy to turn his head as Cor crouches to his level. He’s given a firm nod and a curl of the lips so subtle that most would not recognize it as a smile from The Immortal. 

“It might be a lot higher and open than what you’re used to,” he says, “but the flying is all the same. I know you’ve been wanting to try it.”

Noctis’ cheeks puff in a contemplative pout. He nods tentatively and releases the seam of his father’s pants, shuffling forward. Bunched shoulders relax, peaks of wings perk and flex. He raises his chin, facing the stone structure with the energy of one facing an old adversary, tiny fists curling at his sides.

The flap of his wings starts out slow as he gets a feel for the subtle wind around them. He uses the tips of his toes to give himself the extra boost off the ground. Steadily he rises above Regis and Cor’s shoulders, looking back at them.

Regis gives him an encouraging smile. Cor does the same with a nod. Their sentiments make Noctis’ wondrous blue eyes light back up with desire.

He propels forward and leaves a short gust of wind in their wake. Regis reminds himself not to panic or demand that Noctis come back down immediately, that this is as natural as the day he took his first steps. 

And what a natural Noctis is, spiraling around one of the stone pillars with a delighted laugh. He’s practically a blur to Regis’ eyes, fast and difficult to keep sight on. He braces himself to launch after the boy, heart jumping in his chest, anticipating Noctis to hit a wall any moment now. Cor, on the other hand, starts chuckling. 

Noct takes one final round before zipping up to the third ledge, slanting his body in tandem with his wings as he flies through the stone arch. He lands and spins around on his heel to face them from above.

“Did you see me go?!” He shouts down to them. 

“We saw!” Cor cups a hand near his mouth as he shouts back. “Sort of. Remember to stay aware of your surroundings!”

“Do be careful, Noct!”

Lest he wishes to put his dear father in an early grave.

“I’m careful, I promise! Watch this!” 

Noctis backtracks a few steps and prepares for what Regis can only guess is a sprint.

“What is he - ” Cor realizes it too late, stunned to silence when Noctis darts toward the edge.

“Noctis, wait!”

Noctis does not wait. He dives off the ledge and draws his wings back, letting himself to freefall for a few agonizing seconds. His feathers clap against the wind when he lets them splay. He glides forward and flutters his wings to ascend to the fifth level, somersaulting backwards before his feet to touch the ground.

Regis and Cor are left somewhere between dumbstruck and post miniature heart attack.

“He’s definitely your son.” Cor mutters, earning a squinted side eye. “I’ll give him that.”

Noctis has yet to allow a moment's rest. He leaps from the next ledge, this time slowing and choosing to soar leisurely around the entirety of the structure. Regis’ heart finds a moment of respite in that, and the chance to become captivated by the nimbleness of his son’s wings. 

They’re exactly what one would expect from a Caelum. Destined to cut through the wind like the edge of a sword to blades of grass. 

Noctis’ sweet laughter cuts through it first. Before Regis and Cor realize, he’s speeding back up and heading straight for them. He barrels into his father’s arms, nearly knocking him over. Cor steadies them, sharing the collective wheeze. Noctis is giggling happily into Regis’ chest, perking his head up and spreading his wings high and wide, blocking the sun.

“Did you see me, Dad? I flew really high!”

The joy on that face and in that voice is contagious. Regis can’t help but laugh warmly. 

“That you did, my boy.” He hoists the little prince higher in his arms and jostles him playfully. “Though I think we may need to work on what your idea of being careful is.”

“Does that mean I get to fly with you now?”

Strange... Regis hadn’t properly registered the idea until now.

All those years he would boost his boy in the air and spin him around to give him the illusion of flight. All those times he told him  _ One day _ , but  _ Not yet _ , because it was  _ Too soon _ . The nights Regis would let Noctis curl beneath his wing for bedtime stories. He’d sleep so peaceful and comfortably there, and all Regis would think about is the day his boy would fly openly all on his own without his help.

“If you learn to slow down a bit, perhaps!” Regis pokes his belly. “We may very well be able to sign you up for the chocobo races at the rate you’re going.”

“ _ Really _ ?!” 

“Bad example.” Cor says behind him, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

Regis laughs it off and gives his boy a squeeze.

All the jokes aside, this is just the beginning for Noctis. As small as his little prince may be, he’s ready to broaden his horizons. It’s up to Regis to be nearby to keep an eye on him. To keep him safe, even in the open air, for as long as he can.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry about starting things off this fluffy. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Also consider giving it some love on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/glaivenoct/status/1293355986904702977) and/or [Tumblr](https://glaivenoct.tumblr.com/post/626204138613735424/the-flightless-prince-ch-1)? It'd be much appreciated ^.^


End file.
